


A Gentle Possibility

by ourdivineashes



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, M/M, Panic Attacks, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-29 05:18:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18771994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourdivineashes/pseuds/ourdivineashes
Summary: He’s sure that Fjord is aware of him, but the half-orc’s eyes are distant and unseeing, settled on a point somewhere on the floor.“Fjord,” he says quietly. “I’m here. Can you tell me if you are injured?”A beat passes, and then Fjord shakes his head in the negative.--If Fjord had failed the Wisdom Save after Uk'otoa's vision.





	A Gentle Possibility

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ashinan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashinan/gifts).



> This had been on my mind, and after a conversation with [ashinan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashinan/pseuds/ashinan) I had to at least try! No beta, just trying to post before tonight's episode.

Fjord enters the room again, footsteps probably heavier than he realizes, and Caleb watches him through his lashes. He had been gone for ten, maybe fifteen minutes, but even in the dark Caleb can see the way his shirt clings to his back. Perspiration? Or perhaps he had gone out into the rain. And Caleb wonders at that, worries at what kind of dream or vision Fjord must have had to drive him outside this time.

 

With labored breathing, Fjord sits down on the edge of the bed, elbows bent over his knees. The bed is wide enough for the two of them, but even from his side of the mattress Caleb can feel him shaking. Heavy breaths become desperate gasps for air, and Caleb makes a decision.

 

He sits up slowly, so not to startle Fjord, and walks around from his side to approach from the front. He lets his bare feet make noise on the floor, telegraphing his movement, and comes to kneel in front of Fjord with some bit of distance between them. He’s sure that Fjord is aware of him, but the half-orc’s eyes are distant and unseeing, settled on a point somewhere on the floor. 

 

“Fjord,” he says quietly. “I’m here. Can you tell me if you are injured?”

 

A beat passes, and then Fjord shakes his head in the negative.

 

Caleb nods, continues to speak in measured, gentle tones. “That is good,  _ ja _ ? Alright, then what I would like for you to do is follow along with my breathing, okay? Just in and out, follow my count.”

 

Fjord’s eyes flick up to meet his for the briefest second, then he gives a short nod.

 

“Gut. Okay, ready?  _ Eins, zwei, drei… Eins, zwei, drei… Eins, zwei, drei… _ ”

 

With each slow count, Caleb moves his hand in towards his chest and then out to the space between the two of them, creating a flow of movement like ocean waves. Fjord’s breathing slows down, evens out, and his eyes follow Caleb’s fingers as they drift back and forth. The fall of rain outside is constant, creating a soothing backdrop for the steady beat of his counting. He lets the cycle continue for some time, always watching Fjord, and eventually their eyes lock as they keep the same breathing pattern for more time still.

 

Caleb drops the count, moves his hand forward in slow motion, giving Fjord time to resist if he wants. Fjord holds his gaze, makes no move to stop him, and Caleb reaches to place his hand on Fjord’s chest, over his heart. The pumping beats he feels there are quick, but not frantic, and slowing even more as rubs his thumb over the damp shirt.

 

“Better,  _ ja _ ?” he inquires.

 

He blinks in surprise as Fjord’s hand comes up to cover his. “Thank you,” he whispers, his voice rough, and he clears his throat. “I’m glad you knew how to deal with that.” 

 

“Yes, well, I’ve been on the other end of it,” Caleb responds. “Dealing with it alone makes it worse. Draws it out.”

 

“I can’t imagine,” Fjord says, and suddenly his exhaustion catches up with him. His face sort of crumples, and his shoulders sag, and Caleb feels a pang of empathy in his heart. 

 

“I should let you rest,” he says, rising to his feet. He starts to pull his hand away when Fjord jerks, seizes at his wrist.

 

“Wait, Caleb, I -” he starts, words tripping over themselves. He frowns, his mouth twisting with an unspoken discomfort that looks something like shame as he turns his gaze down, away from Caleb. 

 

And this cuts Caleb to the quick, because he knows this exact brand of shame, knows the way it burns at his eyes and compresses his lungs. For someone to bear witness to that moment of weakness, he would turn away, curl into himself, while at the same time so desperate for some form of comfort and reassurance. It is a moment of fracture, of wanting to be in two places at once ‒ held in comforting arms yet gone from anyone’s sight ‒ and he knows the aftermath in itself can be paralyzing all over again.

 

He sits next to Fjord on the bed, takes hold of the hand with scar twinned to his. “I’m not leaving. But I know how tired the body becomes after panic. You will need to rest.”

 

Fjord nods. “I know, but…” he murmurs, and then bites his lip again.

 

“What do you need, Fjord?” Caleb asks, voice gentle as he soothes along the scar. “What can I do?” This makes Fjord hesitate again, so he readjusts. “Let’s start small. Would you like some water?”

 

He huffs out a breath and then nods again. “If you don’t mind,” he speaks around a gulp, as if just realizing his own thirst.

 

“Of course,” Caleb says in kind, squeezing Fjord’s hand gently before moving to the corner of the room where a clay water jug and two small stone cups sit upon a table. He pours for both of them, returns to sit cross-legged next to Fjord. His knee knocks gently against Fjord’s hip, foreleg running contrapoint to the thigh of his breeches. Fjord takes the cup with a quiet murmur of thanks, then takes the water in sips. His eyes are closed, and Caleb thinks maybe he’s trying not to let his hands shake.

 

“Did you know that Frumpkin is not my first cat?” he begins, and waits only a moment to see Fjord register the question before continuing. “He’s the first cat I have summoned from the Fey, but he’s actually my second cat. When I was a boy, I found a little tabby kitten in the woods near my home. She only a couple months old, but her mother was nowhere around. So I took her home and hid her in my room. Rehlein, I named her. ‘Little deer.’ I managed to keep her hidden for a few hours before my mother heard her mewling through the door.” He laughs a bit then, remembering his mother’s look of exasperation fighting with a threatening smile. “Mama had the same soft spot for cats that I do, so she couldn’t say no.”

 

Fjord looks at him in a mix of amusement and confusion. “Why are you telling me this? I would think you’d wanna talk about…” He makes a vague gesture encompassing the past half hour.

 

“ _ Nein _ ,” Caleb answers, shaking his head. “Not right now, in any case. You should have time to process, and I won’t push you. Whatever is happening, I hope I can help you. I hope… Well, I would like to think that you trust me, but if you can’t talk to me about it, I’m sure Beau or Caduceus would be willing to listen as well.”

 

He can’t be certain in the dark, but it looks as though there are tears welling in Fjord’s eyes. “Thank you, Caleb.”

 

He nods. “And as for why I’m telling you about my old cat, well. Cats always make for a more pleasant topic of conversation.”

 

Fjord laughs at that, nudging him with his knee. “That they do.”

 

They sit in silence for a while longer, Frumpkin approaching them and chirping to get on Fjord’s lap. Once they’ve finished their water and ready themselves to lie down again, Fjord pauses.

 

“Could you…” he begins, obviously nervous.

 

“Whatever you need, Fjord,” Caleb answers.

 

A deep breath. “Your hand. When you had your hand on my chest earlier, that helped. Made me feel grounded. You don’t have to do that again,” he hurries to add. “Maybe if I turned over and you put your hand on my back?”

 

Warmth suffuses in Caleb’s chest. In the quiet hours of the night, where his thoughts roamed more freely, he had pictured a moment maybe like this. Soft hands, gentle touches. He inhales, breath stuttering in his ribs. “Of course,” he says. 

 

They settle down, less than an arm’s length apart, Fjord facing away. Frumpkin curls up in the gap between them, and Caleb reaches out, fingers to palm molding to the curve of Fjord’s spine between the shoulder blades. Fjord hums gently, and it reverberates up through Caleb’s arm.

 

“Good night, Caleb,” Fjord says.

 

“ _ Gute Nacht, _ Fjord.” 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ourdivineashes)


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